


young & beautiful

by ladykestrel



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: F/M, Ruin and Rising Spoilers, been told tissues are needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 04:06:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2295974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladykestrel/pseuds/ladykestrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post Ruin and Rising AU about the prince of shadows and the girl who had once been queen of the sun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	young & beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on [tumblr](http://ladykestrel.tumblr.com/post/90493942141/hello-for-your-meme-darkling-x-alina-give-me-a), written for the sentence prompt "Give me a hand."

It has been several decades since he had last seen her. Since she had plunged a knife into his chest. Since she had stabbed his heart and killed him. For him, it has been no time at all. For her, it has been an entire lifetime.

The Darkling watched the former Sun Summoner now, rocking back and forth in a chair, by a kindling fire. She had yet to notice him standing in the shadows that the corners of her room provided. The space was small and the darkness surrounded the old woman, but she seemed comfortable with it, almost content.

She had changed so much, but at the same time she was still the same as the Darkling remembered her – small and bony, with white hair, now with hints of silver, spilling down to her waist. The girl, once known as Sankta Alina, Sol Koroleva, Sun Summoner, was now nothing more than a greying old woman, hanging on to her last bits of life. But, the Darkling thought to himself, she still looked radiant. Age had not gotten to her.

He stood there, watching her, as Alina swung in that old creaking chair, following the dancing flames with her eyes, and twirling a tiny object in her wrinkled fingers. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she did not feel him through their bond. The Darkling was not sure if she even held that connection with him anymore. If she did, she’d surely realised a long time ago that it hadn’t been him that they had burned along with the fake Sankta. Or maybe she knew, and she did not care.

Carefully stepping closer to her, the Darkling spoke, “Alina.”

The old woman flinched, as if burned, and turned in the direction of where her name had come from. When she saw him, Alina’s eyes went wide, so wide they could’ve swallowed oceans whole. They were like glass, every emotion reflected in them. The Darkling saw confusion, disbelief, shock, fear all pass through her. He did not know how to react to the last one. He did not want her afraid.

“You are dead,” Alina stated, her face pale and colorless. “I drove a knife through you. I watched you die. I was there when you burned. “

“Oh, Alina,” the Darkling moved to kneel in front of her, taking her hand in his. “So old and still so naive.” He could not clearly see what had been wrapped in her fingers – a badge, rusted with time, that bore the symbol of the First Army and the name Oretsev. His muscles tensed, something bile rising up in his throat.

“I am going mad, aren’t I?” She stared at him, her eyes shaking. “I am finally being driven mad by age and loss. This is not real.”

“On that account, you are right – this is not real,” the Darkling assured her. “But you are not going mad, Alina.”

“How,” she blinked at him. “How are you here?”

“You have let your eyes deceive you. Not all you see is true, not always.”

“Why are you here?” Alina asked, her voice strained. She was still petrified from the sight of him. “After all this time, why come now? Have you come to mock me? Rejoice in having won once again?” The Darkling’s lips turned into a half-smile.

“Still so eager to think the worst of me.”

“You have given me every reason.”

“I suppose that’s true,” his eyebrows furrowing. “But I have not come here to mean you harm, Alina.”

“Then what have you come here for?”

“I wanted to see you,” the Darkling told her, remembering what she had told him when she’d first used their connection to visit him.

Alina went to laugh at his use of wording, she, too, remembering that time, but it came out strangled. She was not youthful as she once was, and she no longer held the Sun’s rays in her palms. She hadn’t been Grisha for quite some time, and that had allowed time and sickness to make their way through to her. That young girl, the one that had battled evil and suffered great loss, was no more. In her place was a sickly old thing, burdened with wrinkles and aches. Only her loss remained, with more and more piling up on her heavy heart.

The Darkling was still clutching her hand, sending warmth to her cold fingers. Alina was quiet for a moment and then, “Even when I have withered away? When I am nothing more than dirt beneath your boot?” She paused and then added in a small voice, “Even when I am no longer your equal?”

Silence fell, both of them at a loss of words. Tension was crackling along with the spark of the fireplace. The Darkling dropped Alina’s hand and stood, turning to the frames that hung on the walls. There were paintings of the Little Palace, of ships sailing in the sky, of the Vy River, and much more. His eyes lingered on a painting of what had once been the old Keramzin orphanage.

“I had it painted exclusively,” Alina said, noticing where the Darkling’s gaze had gone. “It is not a replica of what the building had been. No one could remember how Keramzin looked in detail, so I had to describe it to the artist myself. Do you think it resembles the original? You surely must remember what it looked like.” There was a drop of cruelty in Alina’s voice. Bitterness. She had intended for her words to come out as they did.

“I am sure you did it justice,” was all the Darkling replied. Alina fell back onto her chair, clearly disappointed in his response. She had to be more naïve than he thought, if she’d expected remorse. There was none to be had.

They stayed like that, as if suspended in time. Alina was once again looking at the flames and their elaborate dance. The Darkling stared at the paintings still. He saw one of a young couple, with their hands around each other, and suddenly wished he could rip it apart and burn the remains.

Alina sighed, “Just go, Aleksander.”

He did.

***

The Darkling took his time with returning.

Even when he knew that time was not something Alina had.

A year passed and he did not visit her. She sometimes called to him, now that she knew their bond still existed. He did not answer. Even when I am no longer your equal? Alina’s words echoed through him. He tied them around himself like an anchor, keeping him in place. He would not go to her. Let her feel what it was like to be truly alone. After a while, she stopped trying.

Until one day when the Darkling felt her call to him, like she was pulling a string deep within him. She was pleading with him; he could feel her despair. And because he had grown weak, he answered.

This time it was a different room that awaited him. Gone were the paintings on the walls and the creaking chair. There was no light coming from a fireplace, no flames to entertain with their movements. This room was showered in light – from the windows, which were open wide – and the radiance of the countless suns covering the walls. They were painted yellow, but shined like gold in the light of day. There wasn’t much furniture in the room, only a handful of books stacked on a cushioned chair that sat in one corner, near the door, and on the opposite one – an old wooden wardrobe, big enough to fit only the woolen blankets for the winter time. There were a few other chairs scattered about, but no table for them to belong to. In the middle of the room, set against the wall, was a spacious bed, and in it lay a wrinkled old woman with hair as grey as a rainy day. The Darkling could hardly recognize the person he’d once believed would rule beside him for eternity. She had aged a century from when he’d last seen her. It was as if some wicked beast had come and devoured from the inside, leaving only hollowness behind.

There was a woman tending to her, pulling up the blankets around her when Alina brought them down. “You need to stay warm, dushen’ka,” she was telling her. “And don’t get any ideas of sneaking out of bed,” the woman gave her knowing smile and held up her index finger warningly. The Darkling chuckled. Even as an old woman, Alina was still giving trouble.

Alina gave a raspy laugh and waved the woman’s warnings off. Then, when her eyes settled on the Darkling, she asked to be left alone. The woman – who couldn’t have been older than thirty years – complied, saying that she would be back to check on her later.

“I am quite the sight, aren’t I?” Alina asked when her nurse had shut the door behind her. “Imagine what the people of Ravka would think, were they to see their beloved Sankta, wasting away in this bed.”

“They would come to shower you with their gifts and prayers, without a doubt,” the Darkling said, moving closed to sit on a chair next to Alina’s bed. When she looked up to meet his eyes, Alina smiled a weak smile and reached out her hand. He took it and cupped it in his palms, just like he had done the last time.

“You came after all,” it was only a remark, neither joyful, nor dreadful. The Darkling nodded, still looking her in the eyes. “I wasn’t sure you’d show. I had to get creative,” Alina laughed weakly.

“Why did you seek me?”

“It feels good to hear my name again,” she said, not really answering his question. “It has been so long it has been since someone called me that.”

“I can imagine,” the Darkling whispered, recalling the last time someone had referred to him as Aleksander - a year ago, when an exasperated old woman had told him to go.

“Nobody here knows me, who I really am,” Alina continued. “At least, not who I had been. All the people that knew me have gone.” Her face filled with sorrow, feeling the weight of the friends she had lost. He had told her, once upon a time, that you mourned those you liked more. That it was harder then. She should have listened.

“After Mal…” her voice trailed off. Tears were brimming in her eyes. The Darkling had learnt of the tracker’s death not long after he’d been buried. When he had visited Alina last year, it hadn’t been even a month since her otkazat’sya had perished. It was why Alina had been twirling that badge around in her fingers.

“Why am I here, Alina?” The Darkling asked, sighing. He had no desire to listen how she was mourning her otkazat’sya love. He’d rather have another knife stab him in the heart.

“You are the only one left,” she replied, hints of desperation in her strained voice. “I outlived them all. I lost my powers, I lost myself. Everything, everyone is gone… Except you. You are here, Aleksander.” The Darkling could tell she was delirious, finally having those hallucinations she thought she’d been experiencing when she first saw him in her home. He had always known she’d come to him, that they would find each other eventually. But never had he imagined this – Alina, desperately reaching out for him, as she lay dying.

There are no others like us, and there will never be.

The us turned into I, but the never remains, and he could feel the weight of it now more than ever. Now that he had had a taste of what could have been, what should have been. Anger shook his body.

“I knew a boy once, Alexei, he was a cartographer assistant like I had been,” Alina was rambling now. “He was so fascinated with the Grisha, he drilled me and sucked every bit of detail I could offer him about you and your coach, when I almost got trampled by it.” She gave out a weak laugh, but then her face got solemn. “He died in the Fold, got mutilated by volcra. Nobody did anything to try and save him. They just- they let him die.” Alina was sobbing now, her breaths coming in heaps. The Darkling went up to the bed and sat on the edge of it, and gently stroked her hair. He hadn’t said much, he’d just let her speak. Now, he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to say something.

A long time passed, and the Darkling thought Alina was asleep, until she mumbled, “It seems to me, Aleksander, that, despite everything, you’re still the winner.” Her eyes were still marked with tears, but she was no longer crying. She just looked sad and very tired. Ever as she spoke, her eyes were starting to close themselves. He let her fall asleep while leaning on him. As her heart slowed and her breathing evened, the Darkling whispered, “It is you who has won, Alina.” Then he disappeared.

***

The Darkling occasionally visited her again. Every once in a while, as Alina got more sickly and exhausted with time, he’d come and check on her. She’d greet him like an old, dear friend, one she was glad to see. She’d keep referring to him as Aleksander, his name rolling off her lips like honey.

On a warm sunny day, some months after she’d told him about the mapmaker who died on the Fold, he found her trying to get out of bed.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Alina said as her appeared. “Give me a hand, will you?” She was already reaching out and the Darkling brought his hands out to steady her.

“Where are you going, Alina?”

“To dance lessons,” she bit at him. “Where does it look like I’m going?”

“In your condition – back to bed, I presume?”

“Don’t you sass me; I’m your elder now.”

“You are mistaken, Alina,” the Darkling smirked. “You forget I’ve lived more lifetimes than you could ever imagine.”

“Ah, kids these days…” she laughed. The laughter turned to coughing, then more coughing. The Darkling braced her as she tried to move forward, mid-cough.

“I want to go outside,” Alina told him. “I want to sit by Trivka’s pond and let the sunlight wash over me.” She then looked at him, her eyes pleading, “Will you take me there, Aleksander?”

“You know I’m not real.”

“You’re real enough.”

So the Darkling took her to the pond, helped her lower herself onto the grass, and then sat beside her. They stayed like that for a long time, silent, as insects buzzed around them, until the sun’s rays gave way to shadows. He took Alina back inside and laid her into bed, pulled up the blankets around her and watched as fatigue claimed her.

“Thank you,” she whispered just before he disappeared again.

***

It was not long after their trip to the pond that Alina passed. She’d been in bed, quietly slipping out of the world of the living while she slept. The Darkling felt the shift in their connection and instantly knew.

***

Alina Starkov’s second – and, this time, real– funeral was held three days after her passing. Children and teachers and caretakers, all from the orphanage, had come to pay their respects. A priest had been summoned, and everyone prayed for the soul of the small, strange woman, with hair whiter than ivory, who had built this house with her husband, and made it into a home, not just for the both of them, but for everyone who had, even once, passed the threshold.

Orphans sobbed loudly and teachers silently wept for the old woman, who had dedicated her life to them. She’d never had children of her own, because she’d had all of them. They were her family. Now, her family was mourning her while the priest was chanting prayers and sending her spirit off to the skies.

Nobody noticed the boy, who hid in the shadows, who hand an anguished look on his handsome young face. He did not attend the ceremony, he did not weep. He simply stood there as they lowered Alina into the ground and watched as children wiped their noses onto their sleeves. Nobody noticed him later, when he went to the freshly dug grave and placed flowers onto it, atop all the others bouquets. Nobody noticed him when he knelt in front of the headstone of the girl who’d once been his equal, whose true name everyone had forgotten. Nobody noticed when the boy bowed his head and let a single tear escape him.

He had traveled all the way from Fjerda, just to attend the funeral in person. There was no other way for him to be here now. The girl, who had had the sun at her mercy, the only one with powers that rivaled his own, had disappeared. So had his connection to her.

Perhaps, he had been a little bit in love with her. But the girl was gone, and the boy’s destiny had always been to be bound by the night.


End file.
